Valentine's Angel
by Mizuni-no-neko
Summary: America finds that making snow angels alone in the woods is better than eating chocolate alone at home. At least until he has to get up without messing up the angel. That's where Russia somes in. Wait, Russia? RusAme T for America's potty mouth.


So, rather than writing the next chapter of The Boy in the Picture, I decided to finally write up a late post for the event. I know, I'm horrible! But I promise I will get it done, I swear ;A;

So, have some fun Valentines tiems with Russia and America! Enjoy! =DDD

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Valentine's Day had never been America's favorite holiday. Too many memories of sitting home alone, even the crushing silence of his solitude better than going out to see all the happy couples holding hands and sharing kisses. Usually he loved seeing his people happy, but there was just something about the day that spoke to him; not as a country, but as a man, something that told him that he was alone in the world, alone in his own home. His people loved him, he could feel that love any time they sang the anthem or recited the pledge of allegiance. And usually that was enough for him. But Valentine's Day wasn't about love for your country; it was about loving another person so much that your heart was bursting with it.

And America had no one like that.

He'd tried spending it with friends over the years. Canada was always up for a round of action movies and video games to distract from the fact that they were both painfully single. England had even tried coming over a few times over the years. He wasn't much help, though, since he would go into protective big brother mode and remind him every five seconds that it was ok to be alone. It got so tiresome after a while, so they kind of just quit spending the time together. He was just glad that they'd stopped that before he'd said something stupid that would have alienated him even more. Heck, England may not have been the ideal person to spend Valentine's with, but he was like a brother to him and he still cared and junk.

So after much deliberation, he decided that this year was better off spent alone than with family. He'd had several friends offer to keep him company in various ways. Most of them were friendly and concerned for him, a few were lewd and joking...or at least he thought France was joking about it. It was really hard to tell with that guy, sometimes. He'd turned down all of the offers, though, and jokingly told them all that he'd spend the day gorging himself on chocolate and Ben and Jerry's like a depressed girl. No one had laughed, probably because no one would put it past him to do just that.

Well, he would show them! This year, instead of sitting at home and avoiding all the lovesick couples and depressed singles, he would go out and do something. Nothing related to the holiday, just something fun. It was still winter, dammit, and he had a right to use all the snow that had been dumped on him. He wasn't sure what was more depressing: Valentine's Day, or all the snow. But at least the groundhog had assured him that winter would be coming to an end soon enough. He couldn't wait for spring! But for now, it was time for some fun in the winter wonderland nature had been so kind as to grant him.

He dressed quickly in multiple layers, pulling on his snow gear like an excited child. He may spend most of the winter hibernating and trying to stay as far away from the cold as he could, but damn it if he didn't love playing in the snow. When he was finally ready he stared at the door warily, wondering if all the bundling up he did was going to be enough. Figuring that he wouldn't know until he opened the door, he left the house. He stood outside the door for a moment, hand still on the knob, ready to rush back inside at a moment's notice.

He needn't have bothered. It was cold, but nothing he couldn't handle. So he locked up behind him and trudged off through the snow, intent on finding something to occupy his time. Maybe find someone willing to have a snowball fight with him, or he might build a snowman. He tried to get lost in his thoughts and shut out all the lovey-doviness in the air, but it was really hard when he could feel the happiness radiating off of the couples walking down the street and the depression rolling off of the singles in waves. Soon enough he was shuffling down the street dejectedly, shoulders slumped and obviously unhappy.

As soon as he reached the outskirts of town, he turned off of the road and into a field running along the edge of the road with some woods in the distance. He headed towards the woods, deciding that it was the place he was least likely to see happy couples that made him want to gag. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he breached the tree line and ducked into the woods.

Not watching where you're going in snow covered woods isn't the best idea, so when America smacked face-first into a tree he shouldn't have been surprised. But, dazed and confused, he just lay there looking up at the sky. It didn't register for a moment that he'd fallen or that his glasses had fallen off into the snow. But when it did, he laughed. It was the dry, half manic kind of giggle you hear from people right before they say something like 'at least it can't get any worse'...at which point it always does.

What had he done to deserve this? Sure, he was kind of loud and could grate on people's nerves. But dammit, did he really deserve this? Alone on Valentine's Day, laying face up in the snow, freezing his ass off, and not quite sure where his glasses went. He could have cried, he really could have. It just wasn't fair, like, at all. He just wanted one Valentine's Day in his whole life that didn't suck, was that too much to ask? It sure as hell wasn't. There wasn't even a point in getting up out of the snow anymore. He would just lay here until it got dark or someone came along to tell him to get the fuck home, whichever came first.

He didn't know how long he just lay there, staring dejectedly up at the sky like it held all the answers and would send someone or something to help with the soul crushing loneliness. He'd even take a fucking dog's company at this point. At least the dog would fetch shit and junk. But after a while, just lying there got boring. He was still too depressed to get up and go home, but he couldn't stand to lie still for the amount of time he'd originally intended.

He started to sweep his arms and legs through the snow, idly making a snow angel as he stared up at the sky. It was relaxing, in a way. To him, even the smallest movements had always been more relaxing to him than staying still for any length of time. He was a man of action, used to going out and getting things done. He hated sitting still for even a second longer than was absolutely necessary. Maybe it was leftover from westward expansion and the constant movement it brought with it. He wasn't used to being still and letting others handle things.

While he was musing, he had finished the snow angel. Now he was really at a loss of what to do. He could go on waving his arms and legs around on the ground until the snow melted and he was left in a wet patch of grass, or he could get up and leave a hand print in the middle of the angel's back. Which sucked, because then it completely ruined it. Yet another reminder that being alone fucking sucked. You could never make a proper snow angel without someone else there to pull you up when you were done.

He was so lost in his depressing thoughts about snow angels and how they reflected his shitty love life that he didn't hear the snow crunch under a pair of boots as the owner of said shoes approached the country laying in the snow like it was completely normal. America didn't even notice that he was no longer alone until there was a gloved hand stuck in his face.

"Do you need help up, little one? I know you are hopeless, but I at least thought you knew how to get up when you have fallen down." A familiar voice teased.

America groaned. Great, just who he wanted to see. It wasn't bad enough that someone had to come interrupt his solitude, it had to be the guy he'd had the biggest crush on since his civil war who also happened to hate his guts.

"Russia, what are you doing here?" He snapped, glaring at him. "And for your information, I didn't fall. I was making a snow angel." Well, he was half telling the truth, at least.

"I heard you were spending this overly commercialized love day alone and I wanted to come and see for myself. It was quite entertaining to watch you lying in the snow. Is this something you do often?" He asked, smiling much too sweetly.

"For the last fucking time, Red, I was making a snow angel. Now help me the fuck up so I don't leave a hand print." He growled, yanking on Russia's arm. He'd underestimated his own strength and Russia's readiness to haul him up, though, and the bigger nation came crashing down on top of him. He let out a pained grunt and turned his head to yell at the big lug. But just as he turned, Russia did too and their lips met.

America felt like he was going to melt. Russia's lips were deceptively soft and tasted like something...something he couldn't quite place. Like a home cooked meal, or something like that. He wasn't exactly poetic at the best of times and it was kind of hard to think with Russia...what was Russia doing!

Instead of pulling away and blaming and yelling at him like he thought he would, Russia deepened the kiss, cupping the side of America's head with a large hand and swiping his tongue along the blonde's bottom lip. America opened his mouth without further prompting, pressing closer as his whole body was filled with warmth and he temporarily forgot that he was lying in the snow with freezing water soaking his entire backside. It kind of didn't seem important next to the fact that Russia was kissing him.

When they finally pulled away for breath, America's eyes were hazy, his cheeks tinged with pink, and his lips slightly kiss-bruised. Russia grinned and leaned back down, catching him in another breath-taking kiss. This one only lasted a few seconds before they parted again, gazing into each other's eyes, trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

That was, until America decided that what Russia was thinking wasn't really that important.

"Wanna go back to my place and do it?" He asked, jerking his thumb in the relative direction of his house.

"Da, that sounds nice." Russia agreed, hauling himself up off of America and grabbing the younger nation's hand to pull him up as well. America had expected him to let go and trudge on ahead of him, but the Russian slid his hand into America's slightly smaller one and laced their fingers.

"You know this is not just sex. Right, Amerika?" He told him as they walked down the street hand in hand, closer than they really needed to be. For some reason, the sentiment didn't take him by surprise.

"Yeah, I know. It's not just sex for me, either." He said, squeezing Russia's hand.

They paused outside of America's house, Russia leaning in to plant a sweet, lingering kiss on his lips. He just grinned at the taller man and unlocked the door, showing him in. The Russian rewarded him with a heated kiss as soon as the door was closed. They barely made it to the couch before they were undressed and tangled in each other.

Hours later, as Russia slept peacefully beside him in the nest of blankets and pillows they'd made on the floor after tumbling off of the couch in the middle of round three, he couldn't help but think that maybe Valentine's day wasn't that bad after all.

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I'm kind of disappointed that I only managed to write for two of the winter sports prompts. But I didn't really have any good ideas for the other ones ;A;

Also, sorry about the lack of sex. I just wasn't feeling it. I tried to put it in, but it made the scene feel...cheap? in a way. I dunno. It just didn't fit right.


End file.
